Rumors
by ladybleugonewilde
Summary: After overhearing Lavender and Ron discuss rumors regarding herself, a disgruntled Hermione storms up to her room to contemplate their validity. How did Hermione and Viktor become friends and what secrets lay behind their Yule Ball date?
1. Chapter 1 Hermione Loves Viktor Krum

**Chapter 1: Hermione Granger Loves Viktor Krum**

"Oh, Won-Won! Where are you going? Come sit with me by the fire."

_Ugh!_ I felt my entire body go rigid at the sound.

That cloyingly sweet yet seductive tone—directed at _my_ Ron, no less—set my very teeth on edge. Lavender Brown, or (as I refer to her in my head) the Flaming Tart of Gryffindor, was down there in the common room laying claim to my best friend. Again! Crossing my arms over my chest, I leaned against the wall of the girls' dormitory stairs and tried to decide whether or not to brave the Den of Never-Ending Snogs in order to go the library as I had originally planned.

Technically, it would be just as easy to pad my way back upstairs and go to the library in the morning, but I hated reconfiguring my plans just to avoid them. It was like letting Lavender win all over again. With that thought in mind, I girded myself up for battle by pushing away from the wall, lifting my chin and throwing my shoulders back. However, before I could even take a step, Ron's answering voice floored me.

"Lavender, you know the girls in your dorm pretty well, yeah?"

"Sure, Wonnie-Won-Won. I know _every_one."

I could almost hear her body draping itself across his like the warm, drizzled honey of her voice. I gnashed my teeth and tried not to growl. What was he on about now?

"So, you know most of the gossip up there, like who they fancy or who they've dated, right?"

"Wonnie, are you worrying about my reputation again, silly?"

I snorted contemptuously and thought: _Well, that would be a first_.

He paused for a second and I could almost feel him squirming. Easing down the stairs, I peeked around the corner from the bottom step and spied them sitting together on the main couch. That used to be OUR couch!

"Conniving, territory-thieving wench," I grumbled to myself, scowling fiercely.

I watched Ron extract himself from Lavender's clinging arms with a grim smile. Ron never had seemed like much of a cuddling sort of bloke. Rolling my eyes at myself and wondering why I even still cared about the balmy git, I leaned into the shadows and committed myself to eavesdropping.

"So, er, Harry was wondering about something—"

"Aw, how cute! Is he worried that Ginny's still stuck on Dean?" Lavender asked eagerly, almost bouncing in her seat. "'Cause that's all over now, and she's back to having eyes for him alone."

Personally, I thought that Ginny had eyes for _herself_ in order _to see_. But, perhaps that concept _is_ a little bit too simplistic for the Mistress of Semantics known as Lavender "great Godric's ghost, how I despise her" Brown.

Lavender sighed euphorically over this bit of romantic nonsense while Ron withdrew, casting a semi-disgusted look at her.

"No, uh, not that, Lavender. Um, actually, Harry said that he'd heard some things about, well, Hermione, and asked me to check them out for him."

_What?_ My brain shrieked. Even Lavender couldn't be thick enough to miss what he was digging for.

Apparently, it wasn't humiliating enough that he'd thrown me over for a witless, fluff-centered Snog-Tart. Now he wanted proof that I was still skulking around the girls' dormitory, mooning over him as well. I could hex his bits off! _Well, actually I could. I mean, the distance isn't far and it would only take a few seconds to conjure up another flock of canaries . . . ._

"Rumors about Hermione Granger?" She asked, pulling away from him with a suspicious frown. "I've only ever heard of one—no, _maybe_ two—but only one is somewhat recent."

"Yeah?" He asked eagerly, before making a show of nonchalance. "You wouldn't mind telling me, would you? For Harry's sake, of course! He thinks of Hermione as a sister, you know, and just wants to make sure she's, er, consorting with the right sort. The bloke deserves some peace of mind, don't you think?"

_Oh, how I'd love to give you a piece of my mind, you tart-fondling berk_! I thought angrily. _Consorting, indeed._

"Well, if it's for _Harry_ . . . ." Lavender simpered, walking her fingers along Ron's forearm. "Of course, there was the rumor in fourth year that she was the one who managed to get Harry's name in the Goblet of Fire. That's why she was so eager to help him with all of the challenges—because of the guilt."

Ron's brow furrowed and he extracted his arm from her grip. "Um, okay. I hadn't heard that one before, actually. What about other kinds of gossip?" Ron asked, sneaking his arm around the back of the couch as he looked away from Lavender. "You know, like about her love life and stuff."

"What love life?" Lavender asked with a giggle.

_I could throttle her. It wouldn't be hard. Or maybe I could take a page out the Half-Blood Prince's book and simply . . . . _

Ron laughed nervously as well, and I wanted to slap the smirk right off of his face.

"Ah, come on, Lav." He goaded, looping her arm through his own. Bowing his head to look her in the eye, he lowered his voice and continued in a cajoling tone. "You're telling me that there have never been _any_ rumors linking Hermione to some famous crush?"

_Well, he's a bold little weasel, isn't he? _

Lavender smiled widely and leaned in close, resting her chin on his shoulder. "Silly! Everyone knows about the little fling Harry and Hermione had two years ago."

"What?" Ron choked, obviously shocked.

I couldn't agree more. Had the Giant Squid been leaving deposits in the water again?

"You're so pwecious, Won-Won." Lavender murmured, absently playing with the short hairs at the nape of his neck. "Of course, you remember. They had their little fling in fourth year right before Hermione fell in love with Krum."

Ron cringed away from Lavender's playful fingers and stared at her in dismay. In a choked voice, he asked: "Hermione Granger loves Viktor Krum?"

"Of course she does, silly! Poor girl. She's never had eyes for anyone else since. That's why she insulated herself with you and Harry for so long, so that no other boy could get close to her."

_Oh, no!_ I wanted to moan. I could tear that lying vixen's hair out by the bloody root. He couldn't possibly believe that Doxy drivel, could he?

"She probably thinks he's _perfect_ for her." Ron grumbled unhappily in resignation, accepting his girlfriend's words without question as he settled back against the cushions of the couch heavily.

Expelling a dreamy sigh, Lavender leaned forward to press a kiss to Ron's frozen cheek. "She'll love him forever just like I love you, Won-Won."

I turned away as Ron finally enveloped Lavender in the embrace she had been pleading for all evening. Her giggle tainted the air with a nonsensical vibrato, causing a distinct ringing in my ears. I felt dizzy. My stomach suddenly churned with bitterness, and I fled up the stairs before I could toss up my accounts all over their disgusting display.

Reaching my dorm room, I stormed straight across the creaking floorboards to my bed. Pulling the curtains open, I heaved myself onto the feather tick mattress before pulling them closed behind me with a violent jerk. Flopping back against my pillows, I let out a frustrated sigh. Seconds later, I was surprised to feel the mattress dimple as Crookshanks joined me. Allowing him to settle on my tummy and chest, I threaded my fingers through his ginger fur, feeling his euphoric purr rumble through my whole torso. Tucking his head under my chin, I petted him slowly, willing the anger to leave my body.

How did that rumor ever get so far? And why would Lavender say such a despicably insensitive (and absolutely unfounded, I might add) thing to Ron, knowing how much it would upset him? Was that how a good girlfriend was supposed to act? She had to know about his sore spot for Viktor Krum, so why would she go stirring up such painful ghosts? Why drive yet another wedge between us?

_Because, she thinks that Ron still fancies you_.

The thought came unbidden and I tried to shrug it off mentally.

Once upon a time, I had thought that Ron fancied me as much as I did him. I went about laying a plan to snare him for myself, convincing Professor Slughorn to allow each of the Slug Club members to invite one guest to his Christmas Party. I knew that it would be the perfect opportunity to invite Ron out on a real date. Just thinking about an evening with Ron had inspired recollections of the Yule Ball in fourth year. I began daydreaming about dressing up again, not just to get Ron to see me as a _girl_ this time, but to get him to see me as a _girlfriend_—someone that he could date and cuddle and cherish . . . .

Well, that tender plan had soured quickly in the heat of Ginny's ire. Though I have talked to her and Harry since the stand-off with Ron began, I still cannot make sense of her actions. I can understand her desire to embarrass or hurt Ron—he really can be a royal prat sometimes—but why would she corrupt and use my secret? Viktor is the one issue I could never make Ron see sense on, so why had she instigated this mess and forced Ron to trample my unsuspecting heart?

I tossed and turned on my bed fretfully, managing to upset Crookshanks in the process. I rolled onto my stomach then, allowing him to settle in the curve of my lower back in apology. Resting the side of my face on the crook of my arm, I sighed softly as his purr rumbled deeply through my tissues, soothing the tension there. _Where had things gone wrong with Ron?_ I wondered sadly.

Was it always there between us, a ticking time bomb set to explode when our hearts finally engaged? Did it start this year with Slughorn's show of favoritism, last year when I missed his big game, or over the course of a year where Viktor fell from Ron's vaulted esteem at the Quidditch World Cup to persona non grata after the Yule Ball? As I mulled over the matter, I became firmly convinced that the Yule Ball was the key to my current troubles.

When Ron originally became jealous of Viktor Krum, I admit that I missed the obvious at first. I remember thinking to myself, _He's simply jealous that Viktor wants to spend time with me rather than him—how ridiculous!_ It honestly never occurred to me that Ron might not be jealous of me, but of Viktor himself.

I thought that we had come through that drama relatively unscathed. Ron and I had settled back into our holding patterns as one long year faded into the next. There were times when I thought that Ron would finally say something, like when he would gripe about my letters to and from Viktor, or during those intimate moments we stole at Grimmauld Place when Mrs. Weasley thought that we were cleaning. There was one moment, when I almost inhaled some Doxycide vapors, in which I had thought for certain that Ron had felt _something_. He had taken my hand and rubbed my back, and I remember hoping that he would continue to do so when my coughing spasm subsided. We had blushed and traded hoarsely whispered nonsense, but Ron had remained silent on the one issue I wished to hear about most.

The silence never seemed to leave us; it cleaved to our insides and made it impossible to be around each other without sniping about one imagined slight or another. We were so tetchy around each other that I can hardly believe that I finally worked up the nerve to kiss him. But Viktor had coached me in his letters and urged me to make an overture to Ron.

'At my first game,' Viktor had written, 'I would have given anything for someone to take away my mind from the game. A joke, a fight—even a kiss—would have been much welcome.'

It was the inspiration, the very motivation that I needed to make my move. I had thought that it would force the issue into the open, but I had been wrong. I had been wrong about so many things: wrong to think that Ron would be proud of me at the Yule Ball, wrong to think that a first kiss could flourish under Doxycide, and incredibly wrong to think that Ron would ever fancy a self-proclaimed bossy boots, know-it-all in the face of all the Snog-Tart flesh being peddled throughout Gryffindor tower.

He didn't like me _like that_. He couldn't see me _in that way_.

I resigned myself to biding my time, hoping that Ron would eventually grow to appreciate my assets. It was a good, sensible plan—it might have even worked if Lavender had kept her marauding lips off of my best friend!

But I digress. My point is that, as angry as it all made me, I had almost been ready to gracefully accept them as a couple. After all, neither one of us could have predicted or controlled how Ron's emotional barometer would guide him. I could be the bigger person in this situation, right? Maybe I'd eventually reach a point where I could even forgive him for not fancying me back. I had convinced myself that Ron didn't, that he couldn't, fancy me and had nearly accepted the fact, but then I heard them this evening, gossiping like two senile hags, and everything changed.

After seeing Ron's face fall when that manhandling manticore (stupid Snog-Tart!) suggested . . . no, TOLD him that I was in love with Viktor Krum, I felt the first glimmer of hope pierce through my carefully iron-clad heart. Was it possible that my best friend could still be harboring certain warm fuzzies for me, Hermione Granger? Or was he just an incredibly obtuse git determined to break my heart?

Perhaps if he knew the true state of my friendship with Viktor, how it began and what we shared, Ron would be able to accept it and move on. Maybe then we could move out of this holding pattern we seem to be stuck in and into something, well, better suited for people with the emotional range of _at least_ a tablespoon (thus ridding us of the dreaded Snog-Tart known as Lavender Brown).


	2. Chapter 2 Checking Out More Than Books

**Chapter 2: People Check Out More than Books at the Hogwarts Library**

It all began when Viktor first started visiting me at the Hogwarts library. It was early in the morning, just before the majority of students normally stumbled into the Great Hall for breakfast, and I had stopped at the library to be the first to examine the new arrivals. My fingers had just closed around a thin, green, leather-bound volume entitled Oscar Wilde's Fairy Tale Ventures with the Faerie Folk when a large, dark hand captured my wrist.

"Geroff!" I mumbled instinctively, snatching the book away to hold it against my chest in a protective gesture.

I really had spent far too much time with Ron Weasley, I fear, as his manners had obviously rubbed off on me. I felt my face flush in chagrin as I looked up at the stranger, realizing slowly that he had merely been attempting to gain my attention rather than my book. My apology froze on my lips, however, as I finally raised my gaze to his face.

Gasping, I breathed: "You're Viktor Krum!"

We stood for a moment, the cart of new arrivals separating us, like two actors in a play who had forgotten their cues. I watched as his brow cleared only to furrow again, his mouth parting slightly before pressing firmly together in an odd dance of indecision. Catching my breath, I took the lead, offering the green volume to the famous Bulgarian seeker.

"I'm so sorry . . . Did you want this book? It was so selfish of me to snatch it away."

He stopped me short with a shake of his proud, dark head. Raising my eyebrows at him, I silently encouraged him to continue with a small nod. I followed his troubled gaze as it dropped to my chest. Looking down, I veritably preened as I realized he was looking at my S.P.E.W. membership badge.

Clearing his throat, he gestured with a long finger at my button before saying quietly: "I am vondering vot dat is, this S-P-E-W."

I watched his hand drop to the cart which stood between us, the long, sure fingers brushing absently against the various spines that lined the top shelf. I immediately recognized a fellow bibliophile in him. Only a book-lover would caress a novel with such reverence, such respect. Who would have expected to find a like-minded person in the form of an internationally-renowned athlete?

Smiling widely, I pulled my satchel to the front and dug into it with eager hands. Retrieving my box of S.P.E.W. badges from inside, I explained shortly, "It's an acronym. S-P-E-W stands for the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare. Are you interested in learning more about the organization?"

I watched as he glanced over his shoulder nervously, shifting from one foot to the other with a grimace.

Leaning closer, he mumbled, "You vont to help Elves?"

I felt my eyes go wide with surprise. "Why, yes! Are you familiar with their current plight?"

Krum shook his head slowly, watching me carefully with his dark, pensive eyes. He proved to be a great listener as I explained their current state of enslavement and my experiences with Dobby and Winky.

"So, as you can see, they have been conditioned to accept this life of social imprisonment by wizarding society. Isn't it disgusting?" I took his cautious nod as a sign of agreement and continued. "Elves are living creatures, certainly equal to witches and wizards, and they deserve the same rights as any other sentient being, don't you agree?"

Krum nodded again and I was shocked to see the left corner of his mouth raise in a small half-smile.

"You haf much respect for these Elves, yes?" His eyes had a soft cast as they appraised me, and I was eager to assure him that I did indeed have a great deal of respect and admiration for elves like Dobby who vigilantly fought for liberation.

We stood looking at one another for a moment, at the badges, our hands, and our smiling faces before my attention was caught by the clock.

"Oh!" I gasped in surprise. "It's time for breakfast."

He glanced at his wristwatch and nodded.

"Yes. Ve vill be late."

His frown had returned with a subtle vehemence, and I found myself reaching out to touch his forearm.

"If you wanted to continue talking about Elfish welfare, I could meet you here again tomorrow morning." Taking a deep breath, I rushed forward with what I hoped sounded more like an invitation than a sales pitch. "Perhaps I could convince you to join our Society?"

Krum took a moment to consider before finally nodding his assent. "Yes, I vould like to hear more of your ideas."

"Excellent!" I whispered excitedly. Packing away my S.P.E.W. materials with a smile, I walked him to the door of the library, beaming with pleasure. "We'll meet here again tomorrow at the same time as this morning, agreed?"

He opened the door for me and waited for me to cross the threshold before answering. "Yes, dat vould be pleasing."

We chatted along the way to the Great Hall, both silently agreeing to go our separate ways as we entered the great double-doors. We ate with our respective table-mates and went about our day with minimal acknowledgment of one another. At one point I saw him enter the library again as Harry, Ron and I conversed quietly at our usual table. I frowned as he was joined by a few less-than-subtle fan-girls. Catching his eye, we both shared an uncomfortable glance. He shrugged apologetically and turned back to his book. I fought to hide a smile as I recognized the familiar blue cover which was cracked with age and held, spread before him, with gentle hands.

When we met the next morning, I had to ask him about it.

"Are you enjoying Hogwarts, A History, then?"

I had felt him arrive, felt him standing behind me as I flipped through the pages of another new book, and acknowledged his presence without turning around. Smiling slyly, I met his gaze as he stepped around me to check the spine of my own book.

"Knitting for Beginners, eh? Is dat part of your Elf research?"

A warm smile blossomed on my face as an idea struck me. "Viktor Krum, you're a genius!" Taking in his surprised expression, I clarified. "You've given me a wonderful idea of how to help the Elves here at Hogwarts . . . but I need to consider a few other details before I can present it to the Society."

I watched in surprise as a deep red stain formed under the sallow complexion of his face, highlighting his high, sharp cheekbones with a furious blush. I took pity on him as I realized that, as an athlete, he must not receive much praise for his intelligence unless it was related to game strategy. Dropping my teasing tone, I asked him what had interested him about Hogwarts, A History.

"I vonted to learn about the ceiling in the Great Hall. The enchanted ceiling." He clarified, dropping his eyes again to the cart of new arrivals.

I nodded, agreeing that it was a most intriguing phenomenon. We talked more about our respective schools and he told me about how elves were treated by the wizarding community in Bulgaria. We sorted through the new books and speculated on their content, laughing and joking about some of the stranger additions. We spent several mornings like this, building an easy rapport based upon common interests like books, elves, and school. Surprisingly, many of these moments consisted of a companionable silence which was punctuated occasionally by an interesting find and only broken by a recollection of the time.

We seemed to silently agree to not discuss our friends or the Triwizard Tournament, so I was surprised when our conversation turned towards the Yule Ball one morning.

Viktor had seemed more quiet than usual, if it's possible to imagine such a thing, and it took me a full minute to gain his attention as he gazed at the paperback in his hands. Tilting the cover with a push of my fingers, I scanned the title with curious eyes.

"Why Viktor!" I teased. "I had no idea that you were so interested in Haute Couture."

"Vot?" He asked, startled.

"Fashion and the Modern Witch." I read aloud, indicating the book that lay open in his hands. "Have you been interested in fashion long?"

He looked down at the book in his hands as if seeing it for the first time and offered a shy smile. "I do not need to read such books to know these things about fashion." He boasted jokingly.

Taking the book from his hands, I skimmed the table of contents for chapter headings. Reading aloud, I murmured, "_Taming your Tresses_ and _Glamour for Beginners_, eh? Perhaps if I looked at this book I might actually garner an escort to the Yule Ball!"

Laughing softly, I handed the book back to him. Looking up, I noticed a speculative gleam in his eyes as he looked at me. It was as if he were cataloging every nuance of my hair and face. Squirming slightly under his appraisal, I absently smoothed my hair and bowed my head before directing a pointed question at him.

"Do you really know about this fashion stuff?"

How brightly did I blush? I'm still surprised that my hair wasn't smoldering at the roots as I forced myself to meet his gaze. Smoothing the front of my robes with nervous hands, I looked around the room before finally settling my gaze on the hollow of his throat, right below his bobbing Adam's apple. Was he smiling at me?

Looking up, I noticed the quirk of his mouth which indicated he was grossly amused.

"Who is he?" He asked, raising an inquisitive eyebrow as he crossed his arms across his chest confidently.

"I don't know what you mean." I hedged breathlessly. Picking up a volume on the numerology of ancient runes, I gasped as he disarmed me of my prop and forced me to meet his gaze.

"_Who_ are you vonting to take you to the Ball?" He reiterated, overemphasizing each word.

Frowning, I crossed my arms over my chest and offered him nothing but denial.

"No one." I insisted.

His knowing glance unnerved me and I looked away.

"He vouldn't happen to be a certain young man vith dark hair, vould he?"

"Why Viktor," I joked. "I didn't know you cared!"

He laughed with me briefly before prodding again.

"Von of your friends, perhaps?" He gave me a meaningful look, and suddenly things clicked into place. I nearly burst with laughter.

"Harry?" I choked. "You think I fancy Harry? Oh, no, Viktor! He's my best friend, but _no_."

I dissolved into giggles then. I found myself making a terrible choking sound as I attempted to swallow them, pinching myself hard on the arm as I attempted to control myself before Madame Pince banned me from entering the library for life. Meeting Viktor's gaze again, my heart almost stopped. He _knew_.

Somehow, perhaps he had seen the fear in my eyes, he knew not to mention Ron's name. Or perhaps he merely sensed my reluctance to admit to any crush. Regardless of this apparent intuition, he dropped the dangerous line of questioning and handed the book back to me.

"You haf no need to vorry about an escort, you know." He said softly, capturing my gaze. "If you vont, I vould be honored to escort the President of the S-P-E-W." He smiled at me gently then. "In the case your No Von cannot muster his Gryffindor courage, yes?"

I had to return his smile. He really was terribly understanding and generous. I nodded my acceptance, placing the forgotten book back on the cart. Tilting my head to the side, I couldn't help but tease him a little.

"You're quite good at diverting my attention, Mr. Krum. Now, seriously, what do you know about wizarding Haute Couture?"

"More than you think." He replied, his eyebrows dancing playfully above gentle eyes. Smiling softly, his smiles always more of a hint than a full expression, he reached forward to finger my hair. Tugging one of my curls playfully, he added, "You remind me of my little sister Penka."

Rolling my eyes playfully, I accepted his compliment with a warm smile. Nodding briefly, I accepted his invitation as well, and a warm glow seemed to spread through my belly. I identified it as a mixture of pleasure and excitement as we turned to start our morning trek down to the Great Hall. But there was still something more I needed to know.

Stopping him just before the library door, I asked quickly, "Viktor? Why do you care so much about the Elves? I mean, I think it's wonderful that I've finally found someone who cares as deeply about their welfare as I do but, in all honesty, you're really the ONLY person I've met who seems half so . . . _progressive_."

Tilting his head to the side, his hand twitching on the hard oak door, Viktor looked at me with the most curious expression. He seemed to be measuring me with his eyes before finally coming to a conclusion with a tight-lipped smile.

"I haf a very personal interest in Elfish welfare." He replied.

Pausing, he took a deep breath and gazed at me intently, his brow furrowing with the effort to communicate his meaning without words. I urged him to continue with my eyes, and he eventually complied. "You haf noticed my feet, yes?"

Perplexed, I glanced down at his feet, taking in their pigeon-toed stance. Meeting his gaze once again, I nodded in acknowledgment.

"It is defect from my mother's grandmother." Looking at my S.P.E.W. badge, and then at my face he whispered, "She vos an Elf."

I could not hide my surprise. At the risk of sounding speciesist, I admit that I wasn't previously aware that it was possible for magical beings to cross-breed with one another. Of course, if Fleur Delacour could have a Veela grandmother, why shouldn't Viktor Krum have an Elfish great-grandmother?

"Really?" I breathed, not quite able to believe him. Hearing the wonder in my voice, I was reminded of Mr. Weasley's reaction to anything Muggle. Blushing slightly, I smiled apologetically and waited for Viktor to continue.

"It is not vell-known, but it is true." He gazed at me solemnly, and I realized that he was waiting for a particular reaction. Was I disgusted? Would I look at him differently? Smiling, I linked my arm with his at the elbow and led the way out of the library.

Meeting his gaze with a cheeky grin, I replied, "You'll definitely have to buy an S.P.E.W. badge now!"

Shaking his head slowly in surprise, he began to laugh out loud.

"You are too much like my sister Penka!"

Smiling, I inclined my head regally, acknowledging his affectionate accusation, before leading him towards the Great Hall.


	3. Chapter 3 Hermione's a Girl!

**Chapter 3: (Well-Spotted) Hermione's a Girl!**

My thoughts of Viktor and our budding friendship kept my spirits high for the rest of the morning, and I was able to be diligent at both taking notes in my classes and helping Harry strategize for the second trial. This comforting euphoria might have continued indefinitely if Neville hadn't approached me with an invitation to the Yule Ball.

What could I do? I had already agreed to go to the dance with Viktor, and it seemed illogical to break a date with one friend just to go on a different date with another friend. However, while I could successfully rationalize away the guilt caused by my gentle refusal of Neville, I found it hard to prevent my stomach from twisting with anxiety. After a moment of silent contemplation I sighed, forcing myself to admit that had Ron been the friend posing the question that I would have been facing a true moral dilemma. Although, this was before I was given the confirmation of a fear I had harbored for some time: Ron had yet to even notice that I was a girl!

That's right. To Ron Weasley, prat extraordinaire, I was just plain Hermione Jane Granger—the sexless bookworm who was only good for her class notes or proofreading skills.

Looking back, I realize that I didn't take it well. I was livid! Not only did he seem to think that I was androgynous, but he thought I was ugly, too! As if I couldn't get an escort if I wanted!

"Oh come on," he said impatiently, "we need partners, we're going to look really stupid if we haven't got any, everyone else has. . ."

"I can't come with you," I answered nervously, feeling my cheeks heat up with embarrassment, "because I'm already going with someone."

"No, you're not!" said Ron. "You just said that to get rid of Neville!"

It's obvious to me that years of cramming chocolate frogs down his gullet had obviously stunted Ron's mental development. Well, that's not fair, but he made me so angry that night. I thought I would burst with despair, but instead I let my anger hone my thoughts to a sharp point.

"Oh _did _I?" I said, the color in my cheeks shifting from an indignant blush to a furious flush. "Just because it's taken _you_ three years to notice, Ron, doesn't mean no one _else_ has spotted I'm a girl."

He was such an obnoxious git! I could tell that he didn't believe me—why didn't he believe me? Why would I lie? He made me want to rip my own hair out at the roots in frustration. Why did I even like this spoiled, chauvinistic, bully of a BOY?

I stormed up to my room then and, when I finally reached my bed, tossed my satchel carelessly across my trunk before watching it fall to the floor with a dull thud. Flinging back the hanging curtains, I forcibly threw myself, facedown, onto the bed and buried my face in the softly yielding mattress. Opening my mouth wide, I screamed and pummeled the mattress with my fists. I must have made quite a sight with my legs and arms flailing about in a tantrum as if I were five instead of nearly fifteen. After a few moments of frenetic movement, I raised my head and looked over the edge of the bed at my satchel.

It lay open on its side, spewing its contents—and, ironically, my S.P.E.W. paraphernalia—across the floor. Grumbling, I pushed myself off of the bed and came around to stand before the small mess. Crouching slowly, I began to pick up the fallen badges gingerly and replaced them in their case, my anger simmering slowly into mild frustration before finally plummeting into despair. I felt my lower lip begin to betray me with a slight wobble and captured it, hard, between my teeth. Letting myself fall back from crouching into a seated position beside the bed, I let my face fall forward into my open palms and shuddered uncontrollably. I nearly jumped clear out of my skin when I felt a hand descend onto my shoulder.

Startled, I turned my head sharply to watch the owner of the offending hand, none other than Ginny Weasley herself, sit down beside me. With an apologetic smile, she leaned forward and picked up the final remnants of my satchel mess before handing them to me a few moments later.

"Thanks," I whispered, my voice sounding thick with unshed tears.

Ginny shrugged slightly and looked away. We sat there for a moment, shoulder to shoulder, and mutually sighed. Catching each others' gaze, the tension lightened as we shared an unexpected laugh.

Exhaling slowly through pursed lips, Ginny flicked tears of mirth from the corners of her eyes before reaching into a pocket hidden in the sleeve of her robe.

"You were missed at dinner," she replied, handing me a folded bit of parchment.

Furrowing my brow in confusion, I took the note, but not before replying, "I ate before you did, Ginny. Remember? When the Daft Duo took it upon themselves to ask the Ravenclaw seeker and a Beauxbaton _Veela_ to the Yule Ball?"

She answered me with a smirk and shrugged nonchalantly. "What can I say, Hermione? Obviously you were in too much of a hurry to make the Daft Duo the Troubled Trio to notice that a certain Durmstrang seeker had to stay late for Double-Potions."

Realization dawned on me as I felt the bottom drop out of my stomach.

"Viktor?" I gasped.

"One and the same," Ginny replied gleefully. "He caught me as I was leaving the Great Hall. Nice chap, really. A bit broody, but I think I like him."

I smiled slowly, allowing her to continue teasing me as I opened the note.

**Hermione,**

**I was sorry to miss you this night. I hoped to talk more with you. Could we meet to walk and talk? If this pleases, I will be at the lake for the next hour and would much enjoy your company.**

**I will be seeing you at the library—**

**Viktor**

Ginny must have read the indecision on my face because she stopped her gentle teasing to ask me what was wrong.

"Nothing," I replied. "It's just . . . ."

I racked my brain for the right words or phrases to explain what I was feeling. As the silence stretched, I could see the impatience growing on Ginny's face and she began gesturing forcefully with her hands.

"Yes. . .AND?" She prompted.

Rolling my eyes at myself, I continued. "AND—Viktor has asked me to meet him for a walk by the lake."

Ginny's eyes seemed to grow larger than her ear-splitting grin and she laughed out loud. Giving me a playful shove, she asked, "Well, what are you waiting for?"

Shaking my head with a smile, I said, "It's not like _that_, Ginny. Viktor and I are just good friends."

Ginny shot a sly glance at me from the corner of her eye. "Of course you are . . . for NOW. But after this walk, who knows what might develop?"

"You're ridiculous," I rejoined with a smile. Checking the time, I stood up slowly before carefully placing my satchel on the top of my trunk. I was halfway to the door before I caught myself. Turning with the doorknob in my hand, I glanced over my shoulder and asked, "Would you like to come too, Ginny?"

I watched as her eyebrows shot up sharply. "Oh! No thanks, Hermione. Actually, I'm supposed to be discussing Yule Ball details with Neville right now."

"Well, maybe next time, then." I replied, opening the door.

"Oh, so there's going to be a next time, hmm?" She teased, meeting me at the door with a smirk. "You sound pretty confident about your _good friend_."

"Oh, sod off, Ginny!" I cried with a laugh.

Grinning secretively, we made our way downstairs without further preamble. We parted ways at the common room fireplace as Ginny moved to sit beside Neville on the western-facing couch and I moved onward through the portrait hole.

I was eager to see what Viktor had to share. Never before had he asked me to meet him outside of our designated library appointments. I couldn't help thinking that this invitation boded more than just a simple walk around the lake. Viktor obviously wanted to talk about something important, and I was eager to turn my mind to anything that could distract me from my slowly twisting heart.

_Damn you, Ronald Weasley_, I thought to myself as I exited through the front doors of the school.

Turning towards the lake, there was still enough light to make out Viktor's slumped form as he leaned against the base of a tree, idly plucking at certain blades of grass. I rushed forward, plastering a happy smile on my face. Viktor looked miserable enough for the both of us, and I was determined to cheer him up.

"Hello," I called cheerfully, padding carefully down the hill to his side.

Viktor's head snapped up in my direction, and his welcoming smile eased the frayed nerves that the earlier row with Ron had created. Seating myself carefully on the earth beside him, I couldn't help but beam at my wonderful new friend.

"You came." He said needlessly, brushing stray blades of grass from his lap and the book that rested on the ground beside him.

Picking it up, I read the title and quirked a teasing eyebrow at him.

"Leaves of Grass, Viktor? How ironic."

In the dusk I couldn't see whether or not I had inspired a blush, but his wry smirk let me know that he had understood my joke. Bumping his shoulder with my own, I continued, "So, are we going on this walk or not?"

Nodding in agreement, Viktor rose smoothly to his feet and offered me his hand. Grasping it, I pulled myself up, self-consciously shaking out the folds of my school robes. Handing the book back to him, I pointed to the farside of the lake where the Durmstrang ship was harbored.

"Shall we walk as far as your ship?" I asked, estimating a fifteen to twenty minute stroll.

"Yes," he replied, nodding slowly. "That vill be good."

We started our trek around the lake, pausing occasionally to skip a pebble across the softly rippling surface. After a few moments of companionable silence, I found my mind drifting back to the quarrel in the common room.

Why did Ron have to be so mean to me? I knew that he didn't mean to be rude, but his insensitivity had chafed me raw. I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment as my eyes began to burn with unshed tears. Looking away from the lake, I crossed my arms across my chest and hugged myself. I bit my lip as my chin began wobbling ominously and I tried to swallow the sob that I felt welling up in my throat. I didn't quite accomplish it, and I felt Viktor turning to look at me.

I tried to pretend that I was looking back at the school and began tapping my foot. Sniffing loudly, I turned when I felt his hand gently encircle my arm and offered him a watery smile.

"Th-The school's really lovely at dusk, isn't it?" I croaked, sniffling slightly. "It always makes me a bit e-e-emotional." My voice cracked and strained to force the words past my lips, but the sound was still choked by unshed tears and Viktor wasn't fooled.

"Vot happened? Is it about the Yule Ball?"

It started then, a deluge of tears that soaked my cheeks and the front of my robes. Covering my face with both hands, my shoulders shook with the force of my chest-deep sobs. Choking on deep breaths of air as I tried to calm myself, my knees began to shake beneath my robes and I turned my miserable expression towards Viktor's concerned face.

As he stepped closer to me, his features were blurred by the faint light and my watery eyes. Slowly, he grasped my upper arms with gentle hands, leaning down to peer in my face. Running his hands up and down my arms to comfort me, Viktor prodded gently with his questions.

"You no longer vish to go, is that it?" He asked quietly. "Your No Von haf finally asked you?"

My sobs came harder at the mention of Ron, and I found myself crumpling against Viktor's chest. He seemed so safe, so big and sturdy. As his arms closed around me, I clung to his bicep, burying my face there. He wasn't stiff, like Ron had been the year before when I had waxed hysterical about Buckbeak. He didn't pat me on the head or act awkward with me, and I leaned into his strength. Viktor held me easily, rubbing my back firmly as he shushed my fears.

"It is good. You can go—that vos our pact, remember?"

"N-n-no, Viktor. That's not it. That's not it at all. I wish it were, but . . . but . . . oh!"

I felt like two people at one time. In my head, there was the inconsolable Hermione—a girl who wanted nothing more than to curl up into a ball on the ground and disappear, or, worse yet, to get chucked into the middle of the lake and become the Giant Squid's new plaything—and beside her was my logical half, which cringed as it heard my pathetically broken sobs. Fighting to catch my breath, I pushed away from Viktor and dropped to my knees on the ground. Kneeling beneath the wide expanse of starlit sky, I hugged my belly and took several deep breaths. Viktor followed suit, dropping to one knee beside me to knead my shoulders with firm hands, lending his strength as I finally managed to compose myself.

"Better?" He asked, once again rubbing my back. He reminded me so much of my father that I had to laugh, the watery gurgle sounding ridiculous to my ears.

"You really are an older brother, aren't you?" I asked, tilting my head to the side to look at him.

Raising his eyebrows a bit, he nodded, pulling me back until my head rested on his shoulder. "Oh, yes, little Penka. I am that."


End file.
